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John Jefferson flew fighter planes in the Second World War. Decades later, he managed the Château Lafayette in the ByWard Market in a time when The Laff was the place to booze and brawl.
Jefferson died Feb. 17 in Saanichton, B.C., at the age of 96, still mentally clear. He had always considered himself a very lucky man.
The eldest of six children, Jefferson was born in 1921, in Schenectady, New York, and grew up on a farm in Nova Scotia. With the coming of the war, he renounced his American citizenship, joined the RAF and was a pilot by 1943, said his youngest son, Stuart.
Jefferson flew Spitfires and Hurricanes, serving in North Africa and in Burma. Once he collided with another plane and was sent home to recover. But he rarely went into much detail about the war, said Stuart. “He said he dodged a lot of bullets.”
When Jefferson returned to Canada, he brought with him his bride, Peggy, a nurse he met in a dance hall in London. Peggy was an only child, but between 1947 and 1957 she would become mother to nine children, including a set of twins who died in infancy. The family was stationed in Gimli, Man., and Trenton before settling Ottawa.
Wartime portraits of Peggy and John Jefferson.
Jefferson remained in the military and was in line to fly the Avro Arrow, Canada’s ground-breaking interceptor aircraft. When the project was scrapped abruptly in 1959, Jefferson found himself out of a job and casting about for new work, says Stuart. He found it managing the Wellington Club, a men-only establishment on Frank Street. That led to a job offer to become manager and part owner of The Laff. John, Peggy and their dogs moved into a renovated apartment on the top floor of the building with a deck that overlooked the Market.
It was not the entertainment district it is now, said their oldest daughter, Janet Page Andersen.
“The ByWard Market was still a place where farmers gathered to sell their produce and livestock, like chickens and goats. We witnessed massive change in the time we lived there.”
In those days, The Laff had urinals the size of bathtubs. Elderly regulars could nurse a beer all afternoon. Shoppers and public servants would stop by for a cheap lunch. Journalists would talk politics over quart bottles of beer. At night, students would drop by to fill up in cheap suds before closing time at midnight, then head for Hull. The place was often standing room-only. Over time, almost all of the Jeffersons’ children would work in the tavern.
Peggy Jefferson with her children in 1957 in Gimli, Man. From left, Richard, Holly (front), John, Malcolm, Michael, Janet and Stuart (in Peggy’s arms).
The Laff held a cross-section of Ottawa in its boozy embrace.
“Writers, musicians, actors, painters, truckers, veterans, politicians, drug dealers, the works. Most of us knew each other. It was a crazy scene,” said Andersen. “If you didn’t smoke cigarettes, it was hard to be in the atmosphere because it was like a cloud of nicotine behind those doors. We had to scrub the place out every four months. It was awful.”
The place sold two things: food and beer. Jefferson set up a kitchen in a tiny space barely bigger than a closet and brought Alphonse, a Paris-trained chef, from the Wellington Club. “The Laff had a five-star chef. His meatballs were to die for,” said Stuart.
Jefferson set up a free lunch stand where Alphonse offered a huge pot of soup with crackers. The sign above it read, “Help yourself, keep it clean,” said Andersen. “Dad believed many of the older patrons were dependent on that soup. Any new customer coming in for a beer couldn’t believe such high-quality soup was free.”
In the 1970s and ’80s, running The Laff took a tough skin and hard work, said Jill Scott, whose family retains ownership. The building dates back to 1849, so a manager had to be handy, have an eye for the bottom line and a keen understanding of human nature.
“John was a MacGyver type. His military background made him disciplined but was helpful in problem-solving to keep expenses down on a foreboding shoestring budget.”
Gerry Daoust, who now owns Chez Lucien on Murray Street, started working at The Laff as a University of Ottawa student, looking to earn gas money so he could travel up north to work in construction. Daoust learned he could make more money tending bar. “All we did was open quart bottles,” said Daoust, who ended up staying for 15 years, sometimes helping Jefferson make repairs early in the morning after the customers cleared out.
Jefferson also understood that times were changing, and the irrepressible Laff had to move with them. The Laff became a music venue. Keeping men on one side of the tavern and “ladies with escorts” on the other went out the window.
“Until Dad took over, the Lafayette had been a fairly rough place to have a beer. Fights broke out regularly,” said Andersen. “Waiters were big, burly guys who could take care of any unruly guests. Often, this just attracted more fighting. Dad let go of all the tough guys and hired experienced but small-built, no-nonsense types. As a result of Dad’s tactic, fights at The Laff were very rare compared to the other bars at that time.”
Jefferson’s oldest son, John, said he can recall his father being disappointed in people but never angry. “Sometimes one of my brothers would ban someone. But Dad was really fair, and he would let them back. Sometimes it was second home for them. They had nowhere else to go.”
Bluesman John Wilson, a.k.a. ‘Back Alley John,’ performs at The Laff in 1984.
Until 1982, The Commercial on York Street, built in 1837, was known as the oldest tavern in Ottawa. Then it burned down. “It was a spectacular fire. Hundreds came to watch,” recalled Janet. The Laff’s competition was still smouldering when Jefferson hired a painter to create a sign on the upper wall of the building next to The Laff to announce its new claim to fame as the oldest tavern in Ottawa.
By the mid-’80s, John and Peggy were looking to retire, and they decided to move to B.C. Peggy died in 2009. Jefferson’s outlook on life remained optimistic, but he had two hip replacements that didn’t work. “His body was letting him down. We had walkers all over the place. But he was driving up until last year, and we’d go out every Sunday and play golf,” said Stuart.
Jefferson never expected to outlive his wife and three of his children. He was a dedicated smoker, then quit, cold turkey, at the age of 60.
“He always had an Export A filterless hanging from his mouth,” said John. “He quit to get me to stop smoking.”
John and Peggy Jefferson in retirement.
Andersen said her father always had a youthful outlook.
“My brother John’s friend, Denton Pendergast, told me Dad was the only parent who seemed to care when a group of them turned the old Imperial Theatre on Bank Street into a club called The Opera. They used treasure they had purchased when the Capital Theatre had been torn down to make their club look sumptuous and intriguingly rich.”
Jefferson took the group out to breakfast and listened to their plans with enthusiasm. “They were the post-war baby boom kids trying to change the world,” said Andersen. “And Dad was right there with them.”
The DNA of Jefferson’s tenure in the ByWard Market remains. Daoust’s restaurant is named after Lucien Lafleur, a popular waiter at The Laff.
When Daoust started working there, there were seven or eight similar watering holes in the Market. Only The Laff remains.
“He saw it for what it was and treated it like a shrine. When he was there, the place was pristine. The fact that The Laff is there now is a tribute to John Jefferson.”
查看原文...
Jefferson died Feb. 17 in Saanichton, B.C., at the age of 96, still mentally clear. He had always considered himself a very lucky man.
The eldest of six children, Jefferson was born in 1921, in Schenectady, New York, and grew up on a farm in Nova Scotia. With the coming of the war, he renounced his American citizenship, joined the RAF and was a pilot by 1943, said his youngest son, Stuart.
Jefferson flew Spitfires and Hurricanes, serving in North Africa and in Burma. Once he collided with another plane and was sent home to recover. But he rarely went into much detail about the war, said Stuart. “He said he dodged a lot of bullets.”
When Jefferson returned to Canada, he brought with him his bride, Peggy, a nurse he met in a dance hall in London. Peggy was an only child, but between 1947 and 1957 she would become mother to nine children, including a set of twins who died in infancy. The family was stationed in Gimli, Man., and Trenton before settling Ottawa.
Wartime portraits of Peggy and John Jefferson.
Jefferson remained in the military and was in line to fly the Avro Arrow, Canada’s ground-breaking interceptor aircraft. When the project was scrapped abruptly in 1959, Jefferson found himself out of a job and casting about for new work, says Stuart. He found it managing the Wellington Club, a men-only establishment on Frank Street. That led to a job offer to become manager and part owner of The Laff. John, Peggy and their dogs moved into a renovated apartment on the top floor of the building with a deck that overlooked the Market.
It was not the entertainment district it is now, said their oldest daughter, Janet Page Andersen.
“The ByWard Market was still a place where farmers gathered to sell their produce and livestock, like chickens and goats. We witnessed massive change in the time we lived there.”
In those days, The Laff had urinals the size of bathtubs. Elderly regulars could nurse a beer all afternoon. Shoppers and public servants would stop by for a cheap lunch. Journalists would talk politics over quart bottles of beer. At night, students would drop by to fill up in cheap suds before closing time at midnight, then head for Hull. The place was often standing room-only. Over time, almost all of the Jeffersons’ children would work in the tavern.
Peggy Jefferson with her children in 1957 in Gimli, Man. From left, Richard, Holly (front), John, Malcolm, Michael, Janet and Stuart (in Peggy’s arms).
The Laff held a cross-section of Ottawa in its boozy embrace.
“Writers, musicians, actors, painters, truckers, veterans, politicians, drug dealers, the works. Most of us knew each other. It was a crazy scene,” said Andersen. “If you didn’t smoke cigarettes, it was hard to be in the atmosphere because it was like a cloud of nicotine behind those doors. We had to scrub the place out every four months. It was awful.”
The place sold two things: food and beer. Jefferson set up a kitchen in a tiny space barely bigger than a closet and brought Alphonse, a Paris-trained chef, from the Wellington Club. “The Laff had a five-star chef. His meatballs were to die for,” said Stuart.
Jefferson set up a free lunch stand where Alphonse offered a huge pot of soup with crackers. The sign above it read, “Help yourself, keep it clean,” said Andersen. “Dad believed many of the older patrons were dependent on that soup. Any new customer coming in for a beer couldn’t believe such high-quality soup was free.”
In the 1970s and ’80s, running The Laff took a tough skin and hard work, said Jill Scott, whose family retains ownership. The building dates back to 1849, so a manager had to be handy, have an eye for the bottom line and a keen understanding of human nature.
“John was a MacGyver type. His military background made him disciplined but was helpful in problem-solving to keep expenses down on a foreboding shoestring budget.”
Gerry Daoust, who now owns Chez Lucien on Murray Street, started working at The Laff as a University of Ottawa student, looking to earn gas money so he could travel up north to work in construction. Daoust learned he could make more money tending bar. “All we did was open quart bottles,” said Daoust, who ended up staying for 15 years, sometimes helping Jefferson make repairs early in the morning after the customers cleared out.
Jefferson also understood that times were changing, and the irrepressible Laff had to move with them. The Laff became a music venue. Keeping men on one side of the tavern and “ladies with escorts” on the other went out the window.
“Until Dad took over, the Lafayette had been a fairly rough place to have a beer. Fights broke out regularly,” said Andersen. “Waiters were big, burly guys who could take care of any unruly guests. Often, this just attracted more fighting. Dad let go of all the tough guys and hired experienced but small-built, no-nonsense types. As a result of Dad’s tactic, fights at The Laff were very rare compared to the other bars at that time.”
Jefferson’s oldest son, John, said he can recall his father being disappointed in people but never angry. “Sometimes one of my brothers would ban someone. But Dad was really fair, and he would let them back. Sometimes it was second home for them. They had nowhere else to go.”
Bluesman John Wilson, a.k.a. ‘Back Alley John,’ performs at The Laff in 1984.
Until 1982, The Commercial on York Street, built in 1837, was known as the oldest tavern in Ottawa. Then it burned down. “It was a spectacular fire. Hundreds came to watch,” recalled Janet. The Laff’s competition was still smouldering when Jefferson hired a painter to create a sign on the upper wall of the building next to The Laff to announce its new claim to fame as the oldest tavern in Ottawa.
By the mid-’80s, John and Peggy were looking to retire, and they decided to move to B.C. Peggy died in 2009. Jefferson’s outlook on life remained optimistic, but he had two hip replacements that didn’t work. “His body was letting him down. We had walkers all over the place. But he was driving up until last year, and we’d go out every Sunday and play golf,” said Stuart.
Jefferson never expected to outlive his wife and three of his children. He was a dedicated smoker, then quit, cold turkey, at the age of 60.
“He always had an Export A filterless hanging from his mouth,” said John. “He quit to get me to stop smoking.”
John and Peggy Jefferson in retirement.
Andersen said her father always had a youthful outlook.
“My brother John’s friend, Denton Pendergast, told me Dad was the only parent who seemed to care when a group of them turned the old Imperial Theatre on Bank Street into a club called The Opera. They used treasure they had purchased when the Capital Theatre had been torn down to make their club look sumptuous and intriguingly rich.”
Jefferson took the group out to breakfast and listened to their plans with enthusiasm. “They were the post-war baby boom kids trying to change the world,” said Andersen. “And Dad was right there with them.”
The DNA of Jefferson’s tenure in the ByWard Market remains. Daoust’s restaurant is named after Lucien Lafleur, a popular waiter at The Laff.
When Daoust started working there, there were seven or eight similar watering holes in the Market. Only The Laff remains.
“He saw it for what it was and treated it like a shrine. When he was there, the place was pristine. The fact that The Laff is there now is a tribute to John Jefferson.”
查看原文...
